“Bingo. I wanted it to be real. For years I’d been dying my hair this color, or a shabby imitation. I mean, I was already different, might as well look that part, too, I figured. A particular spirit I helped gave me these tresses. I love it. I mean, I could dye it another color if I wanted, but I don’t.”
I chewed the inside of my lip as I thought. “The only other color I might want would be stardust. Sort of a silver.”
“Okay, granny.”
I cackled. “Nothing wrong with being a granny. You’ve got some good ones in this town.”
Just thinking of Ruth and Alice made my heart clench a little. Their friendship, their love for each other was extraordinary. I couldn’t help it if I was a tad jealous.
I pointed my beer at Roan. “What about you? What’s your story? You can’t just be a lumberjack who set off into the world on your own with nothing more than a backpack and a pickax but returned wealthy and worldly.”
He laughed so hard he coughed. Roan set the guitar down and leaned back, slowly rocking. The sound of the two chairs creaking back and forth was the only thing that filled the night until he opened his mouth.
“I’ve lied to you about something,” he said finally.
“Oh?” I raised the bottle. “This isn’t a microbrew? What a fib.”
He shook his head. “No, something else.”
“Well, we’re here dishing secrets. I’ve told mine. What’s yours?”
He swiped his thumb across his lips and watched me as my gaze followed the line of his full mouth. My throat dried.
“I’ve told you I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Oh, so what’re you going to tell me? That was all a lie?”
He nodded. “Yep. It’s a lie. I believe in spirits.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand. Why all the secrecy?”
He dropped his fist to the armrest. “Because underneath this bed-and-breakfast rests a nasty spirit that would do anything to get out.”
I laughed. “You’re joking.”
Roan's eyes blazed with intensity. “Wish I was. That’s why I returned to Haunted Hollow. Because I’m the guardian of the ghost. If I don’t stay, the spirit gets out, and if that happens, all hell will break loose.”
EIGHTEEN
Part of me wanted to laugh in Roan's face. He had to be kidding, right? The self-professed ghost critic was now telling me he wasn’t a critic at all. In fact, he was guardian over an evil spirit.
Well, he hadn’t said the stupid thing was evil, but why else guard it?
“Why are you telling me this?” I said.
“Because,” he said, shrugging, “I didn’t want you to communicate with it and tell the thing it’s okay to come out.”
I scoffed. “As if. Listen, I don’t deal with spirits I can’t see and get a feel for. That’s how it goes.” I crossed my arms and leaned back. “I thought my story sounded crazy, but yours takes the cake. Guarding some sort of ancient spirit? Hard to believe.”
He smirked. “I’d show you, but I’d have to kill you.”
“Sounds like an interesting time.”
He laughed. “No. Really, that’s why I’m telling you. Stay away from the basement. Don’t go down there. Don’t snoop.”
“I don’t snoop, and I’m almost annoyed that you suggested I might.”
He pinched the empty beer bottles between his fingers and rose. Roan stretched. His shirt rode up, revealing abs that made me want to sink to my knees and thank the good Lord that men had been created with such awesome musculature.
